


Charity

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: 100: Tremble<br/>Warnings: Language, Weasleycest, injury.<br/>Summary: They're both tired, and Charlie's too tired to hide it any more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charity

Charlie bit back his smirk at the appreciative moan which came when he squeezed the reddened and sore foot between his palms. The heat coming from the sole was horrendous, and the toes were soft and slightly crinkled from being trapped inside a thick sock and tight boot all day long.  
  
“Remind me never to agree to go shopping with her again,” Ron said bitterly, before he chucked back a mouthful of ale and moaned again.  
“Never go shopping with a woman who knows you're gay,” Charlie sighed, trying to sound sage. “I told you, they expect your opinion on handbags and robes and whatever the fuck they can find to wave in front of you and ask what you think of it.”  
“But I don't care!” Ron burst out. “I don't care if the shoes make her ankles look fat, or if the bag doesn't match her knickers. I don't even like knickers!”  
  
Charlie failed to stifle his laugh and worked his thumbs into the ball of Ron's foot to make up for his insensitivity. He only had to massage for a few seconds longer, however, before Ron started to laugh at himself. Charlie tickled the arch of his foot and Ron tried helplessly to tug it away, but Charlie drew it in tight to his chest and cuddled it.  
  
“Mine,” he announced childishly, bending his head to press a kiss to the top of a long big toe, which he then nipped for good measure.  
  
Ron fell silent and still, and Charlie felt the weight of his gaze without having to look up for confirmation. He looked instead at his brother's hairy ankle poking from the hem of his jeans, and moved up his shin to his knee; he realised that Ron was trembling.  
  
“Alright?” He enquired.  
“Walked too far,” Ron dismissed. “That's the leg I broke when I was thirteen and it doesn't do nine miles in a day without giving me a row.”  
“Not surprised.”   
  
Charlie dropped Ron's foot in favour of smoothing his hands up the shaking limb, trying to hold it still. Ron drank another mouthful of his ale and said nothing, though Charlie felt that he wriggled his toes into the softness of his belly.   
  
“I remember when you were a kid,” Charlie mused, using his fingers to massage Ron's hardened calf muscle, “You'd let nobody touch your feet because you were so ticklish.”  
“Grew out of it.” Ron shrugged.  
“Shame. Bet I would have had fun torturing you with that.”  
“Oh, yeah, what a shame.” Ron rolled his eyes. “Just like it's a shame that you don't get freaked out by people touching their own eyeballs any more.”  
“It's just weird,” Charlie said defensively, his eyes beginning to blink in their usual self-defence mechanism to the subject.  
“I think it's you that's weird.” Ron toasted him with his mostly empty beer bottle and then threw the rest of the liquid down his throat.  
  
He hissed with happiness as he put the bottle down on the arm of his chair.  
  
“Seriously, though. I might like giving it to men up the arse, but that doesn't mean that I like shopping, Charlie.”  
“Then tell her that. Every girl wants a gay best friend, they think it'll be better for them than having a woman as their best friend.”  
“But why? I know the kind of gays they want, and they're all bitches, every last one of 'em.”  
“And me too, but women don't get that. That a gay man can be as masculine as they come. They don't want to accept that, I think. They like the feminisation of a man.”  
“This is all getting too deep.” Ron wrinkled his nose. “Long and short of it, I don't see the difference between two pairs of pink knickers, even if one is forty quid dearer than the other.”  
“Forty quid for a pair of knickers?” Charlie asked in alarm.  
“I know... considering that I was still wearing a patched up pair of your pants when I was seventeen.”  
“Jesus... you must have felt it when the wind blew.”  
“And then some.”  
  
Charlie smiled at his brother and leant back, feeling the tiredness in his own bones. Ron was still trembling.  
  
“You look like you need bed,” Charlie commented.  
“Only if you're going to be there to warm me up. It's fucking cold in here, Charlie.”  
  
Charlie felt colour rise in his cheeks and he looked away, unwilling to discuss why his flat was so chilly.  
  
“Charlie...” Ron said reprovingly. “What's going on?”  
“Nothing.” He pushed Ron's feet aside and got up, rubbing his hands on his jeans. He had grown used to the coolness of the air in his home, but to an outsider it must have seemed unnecessarily cold.  
“Are you alright?” The next enquiry was tentatively put. “Do you need money, Charlie?”  
“Like fuck do I,” he swore hotly. “No. I'm fine.”  
“You're freezing,” Ron pointed out.  
  
Charlie didn't protest as arms wrapped around him from behind. Ron pressed a kiss just below his ear and held him tightly.  
  
“What's wrong?” Ron whispered.  
“Haven't got the money for maintenance to keep the heating spells up,” Charlie admitted grudgingly.  
“Can't you just do your own?”  
“Prohibited to force you into paying them money to do it for you.”  
“And you can't afford that,” Ron confirmed, his tone serious. “How long has this been going on?”  
“Couple of months. Since my redundancy money from the Reserve stopped.”  
  
His throat tightened, as it always did, with mention of the fact that he was no longer able to do the job that he loved. He determinedly did not look at the burnt mess of his right arm, and did not think about the hidden melted flesh and bone of his shoulder and right side of his torso.  
  
Ron huddled closer, bringing his fingers up to stroke the still-injured shoulder through the t-shirt that Charlie wore.  
  
“Sitting in the cold won't help your recovery, Charlie.”  
“I know that,” he snapped and immediately felt guilty.  
“And I know you won't take any money from me,” Ron muttered. “So don't be surprised tomorrow when the maintenance wizards turn up because someone made an anonymous donation...”  
“You don't have to do that.”  
“Yes I do,” Ron answered calmly. “But they might kill me if I contact them now, so it can wait till morning, and until then, we'll go to bed and get warm the good old fashioned dirty way.”  
“Pervert,” Charlie muttered, hating how defeated he sounded.  
  
Ron kissed his burnt shoulder. “It's not charity, because you're you.”  
  
Charlie didn't answer, he simply closed his eyes.


End file.
